


Cycles

by bleak_ish



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, No Dialogue, One Shot, Original Character(s), POV Third Person, References to Depression, Short One Shot, author is very much sleep deprived, author regrets everything, big sad, well not proper dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleak_ish/pseuds/bleak_ish
Summary: Someone who just goes through the same shit and is tired of it-This was written for a writing portfolio piece for schoolwork purposes but this was my favorite piece out of the 6 pieces I've written.Um... this isn't an accurate description of depression to the fullest but yeah here it is.





	Cycles

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this is my first story I've posted on this account and I'm really nervous lol but I do hope you enjoy the read,,, altho this is written by a literal high school student I do hope this writing will be a treat for yall.

Sun filters through the curtains, shining in on the messy and chaotic, yet fondly, filled bedroom. Books are littered everywhere ranging from all wild topics alongside clothes either folded neatly or thrown haphazardly everywhere. Then on a bed lies you, tired and exhausted yet ready to face the world. As the light shines in on your exhausted body, you rise up from your bed, groggy, and wishing to rest back in your comfortable bed you call home.

As you drag around your tired, sleepy body and do your routine of getting ready for a day’s work in the cafe, you glance at yourself in the mirror and find yourself gazing into your bright grey eyes. You think to yourself was this all of it to life? Was it all just a series of ups and downs, its predictability, the possibilities, a repetition of love and loss? You secretly wish there was more to it. You hope for more, and you will do more in life. Walking out of your apartment you think of these things as you head to your work. All walks of life pass on by without much care for the whole world around them. Secretly, the heart has a wish for something to break your cycle. The dull grey of life trying to weigh you down like paperweight. Seeing the cafe, you then straighten your back further and head to the staff room to clock in for the day. 

You greet your workmates and smile kindly at one another just as you begin your shift brewing coffee and serving it out to customers. The aroma of coffee beans and cocoa powder filter through your nose, you sigh and feel yourself relax and you smile. A routine may be tiring as life goes on, but it brings comfort to know you have a repetitive, stable routine to hold on to. The day goes on in the cafe as you work through your shift, doing normal work such as grabbing people's orders, brewing coffee, serving out food, so on and so forth.

Getting home is tiring after you finish work. A boring cycle leading from one after another, neverending until you eventually retire and eventually, pass away. You walk home again the next few days, exhausted from what has become your daily cycle. Tired and worn your body barely drags itself to your house to finally catch some rest after a long, uneventful day. As you finally get out of your work attire and change into more ‘homely’ clothes, you find yourself unable to be motivated. No motivation to cook, to clean or to do anything else, just rest.

You lie in bed tired from existing. You lay down and think back to your younger years, remembering how people would say that you’d become successful. That was a load of lies, you tell yourself as you look upon what you are in the present. Gone was the bright-eyed child who was ready to face the world. All that lies is a now tired, overworked adult suffering from the harsh and unrelenting reality of life. Could’ve done more, but you find yourself snorting at the thought of it.

It’s too late anyways.

Days pass on and you slowly slip away. Knives become more entertaining and it slowly turns into your lover. You still do the same routine day by day, sleep, eat, work, and repeat. Not much of a change. Not like you were willing to change. Your room slowly loses what memory it has of the past, slowly becoming dustier and objects untouched. You eventually find yourself having no motivation to do menial tasks like cleaning or eating. Small dishes left in the sink, dirty from the dishes left days, maybe even weeks, before. Food wasn’t of much use to you nowadays. Going into the bathroom you lock eyes with the mirror.

Eyes see skin and bones, different from the others.

You are nothing more than an empty husk of your past.

You lie to yourself repeatedly now and again about how it isn’t too late to change. A cycle neverending, and a cycle never willing to break. You see yourself and think, God what have I become? Yet barely anyone notices or seems to think of you any differently. You still go to work, making it seem that it’s all still alright. Walking into work, the aroma of coffee and cocoa makes you feel sickly. Things weren’t so bright for you in this homely cafe anymore. You find yourself smiling tightly as you serve customers, you find yourself not as endeared to your workmates as you used to be.

You hate it here.

Withdrawn from the world and having found the rope to be of service to you. You tie yourself a lovely tie and hang it up. Steps and moments away you were free from this world you have slowly come to hate. You step up into the loop and feel yourself let go. Your body slumps, a sickly crack resounds and the chair used is pushed aside.

You finally end this insidiously, vicious cycle.


End file.
